


Silent Night/Warm Light

by griffle



Series: Fly Through My Window Universe [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Good Parent Tim Drake, Hanukkah, OC-Centric (I'm sorry), winter holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:06:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28792902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griffle/pseuds/griffle
Summary: A very late holiday drabble piece.
Relationships: Tim Drake & OC
Series: Fly Through My Window Universe [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023856
Kudos: 33





	Silent Night/Warm Light

**Author's Note:**

> I promise, I'm working on other story lines and such- but I wrote this and I really liked it, so please don't be mad that it's more Jenna-Centric.
> 
> Note: So the entire story is more of Jenna's POV, but the first half is before she figured out her Gender Identity, which is why she's using masculine pronouns. I'm kind of using my own situation here, and I definitely remember a time before I figured out my own gender identity, that I was using the ones I was assigned at birth, so. There's that. 
> 
> There's vague mentions of abuse, both spousal and child, but nothing explicit or graphic. Please take care. 
> 
> Otherwise- Enjoy.

He pushes open the door, gently, quietly. The room is dark- the windows bringing in light, but it is fading, and the Mother has forbidden them to use lights while she does errands. 

It is part of the many rules; no lights, no food without her when she is gone. No heat for that matter; it is cold in the apartment, and his finger feel funny; he can even see his breath get all foggy, which was fun for a bit but now he kind of wants to be bundled in his sheets again- the Mother had taken away his blanket for "training," but she didn't say he couldn't sneak out and see Father while she was out. 

Well. She didn't _outright_ say it, so maybe he won't be bad for doing so. 

Father is sitting on the bed- he's in Punishment now, but a soft one, a _lenient_ one, so he still has on most of his clothes on, and he's on the bed staring at a wall, and not in the corner or in the bathroom. The Mother said she was being _lenient_ because they have a dinner party to get to later today, and also, it's December. 

He's not exactly sure why that's important, but it is. He is four, and carefully realizing how the way works. 

For example, the man that does not move, does not look at him, is his Father, and he is important to him.

He creeps slowly, quietly. Father does not move, does not look, even though he knows that Father knows he is in the room. 

There is something in Father's hands- red beads, with a silver charm that his lessons taught him that it is a cross. The Mother doesn't like crosses, calls them "weak." She had said this as she got herself ready, himself doing his best to keep his breathing slow, and steady from the pain of his own Punishment, not wanting to prolong it. 

He creeps closer, looking at how the red beads twist in his Father's hands, watching as his Father silently mutters something. He cocks his head. "What is that?" 

"Nothing." His Father does not glance down, continues to look forward, fingers touching each and every bead. He still talks without sound. 

"Can I see?" He is curious, because he knows Father is breaking the rules, and he wants to know what would be more important than rules. 

"Absolutely not." And oh, he cannot help but flinch, it sounds too much like the Mother's anger. But unlike the Mother, Father is usually kind, so obviously he did a bad thing by asking Father about the beads. 

"Can I sit by you?" Father usually lets him, if he isn't being Punished by the Mother. It's why Father is so kind- Father lets him sit near him and sometimes he would talk to him, and tell him stories about the Company.

Father doesn't blink. "Not too close- don't touch me." 

He can't help but grin as he scrambles onto the bed, trying his best to get up and not wrinkle the bed spread- the Mother would get so angry if that happened. He scoots as close as he can- not touching, keeping his body away from Father's shirt- enough to feel Father's presence, to feel the tingle of being next to Father. 

Father doesn't say anything back, but that's alright- he's already given kindness by allowing this much. Too much and the Mother would find out and be angry. 

He keeps his breath calm and quiet as he silently watches Father's fingers twist and touch every single bead, over and over again as Father keeps moving his mouth silently, his eyes locked on the wall in front of him. He folds his hands on his lap, and watches the beads, a warmth settling in his chest. 

"It's the 24th," his Father mutters, and then falling silent again. 

He doesn't know what that means, the 24th, why does the 24th of December is important. But Father is letting him sit by him while the Mother is away, so he figures he'll find out eventually. 

He lets himself soak in Father's kindness, as they sit silently, in the room.

* * *

The fire is warm.

Jenna leans against her Dad, leaning her head against his side as he talks avidly with the rest of the family. Her stomach is warm from the brisket stew, _latkes,_ and the _sufganiyot,_ the rest of her body warm from her new sweater that Auntie Cass had given to both Dad and her- matching ones, his with a silhouette of a duck with a knife in its mouth, and hers with a duckling carrying a fork. Dad had laughed at the image, and Auntie Cass had grinned, warm and real, when they entered the main hall earlier today with their bags.

Nearly everyone was staying at the Manor for Hanukkah- even Kate, and the place was crowded like she had never seen. It was tradition, Dad had explained in the car, talking about new habits and building bridges as they drove through Gotham traffic. He had explained to her what the holiday was about, what it meant, and what it meant for the Drakes and the Waynes. 

"So am I Jewish?" She had asked. 

"Sort of?" He had a pinched off face, like he was trying to think two different things but both were at opposites of each other. He was hesitating on another question as well. But that's alright- she knew the other one, and was glad to be the one to ask it instead of him.

"Can I be Jewish? I want to share that with you." 

Dad had admitted to not really being into religion, a throwback from his teen years, he explained. Not exactly disbelieving in God- he had seen and fought them, he said- but more the bit about the afterlife. 

"Or at least Christianity," he had shrugged his shoulders, a lock of his black hair escaping his half ponytail. 

But with this, this query, he had smiled softly at her and said; "Sure." Then he started explaining what it meant.

She's still a bit fuzzy on the details- but, she thinks she's getting the idea of the holiday. The partaking of celebration and joy, of surviving and enjoying the company of family. 

Because today has been lovely. The Manor was crowded and noisy, and yet with Gotham blanketed by snow, it hadn't felt stifling- rather she had enjoyed watching the laughter and arguments, the tentative connections being reformed like spiderwebs and the quiet discussions of old cases, won battles. Dad had been whisked off with Babs and Steph about something down in the Cave, and she had been whisked off to say hi to Alfred and "You haven't lived until you had one of Alfred's latkes, Chickadee," Uncle Jason grinned as he scooped her up onto his shoulder. 

And then she was learning how to make all the wonderful food and Alfred had given her the first latkes which was Very Important, and there was soft jazz playing in the background and apparently Bruce was banned from the kitchen because of "Incidents" involving hot oil and the stove. 

She has an idea what happened; there's still scorch marks on the ceiling.

Dinner had been loud, and had devolved into a shameless and complex bartering system for the latkes that she reveled in- she had shared her bounty with Dad, of course, it was only fair- and afterwards, all had crowded around the _hanukkiah,_ watching Kate solemnly lights the _shamash,_ as the voices started to sing the blessings, tenors and altos all blending together, that it felt sacred, untouchable, bright. 

She never thought she would have this.

Dad had placed his hand on her shoulder, and usually she would tense or shrug (a hand is never just a hand, that is a lesson she learned early) but it felt warm and protective and Dad's voice was clear as he sang with the others, their voices almost protecting the flame as it flickers and wavers, but still stays lit, bright against the dark. 

After, they had gathered to the living room, a crackling fire already in the bank, with everyone going into little groups, loud discussions. It's crowded and noisy, and yet it's the best thing ever. 

She leans against her Dad, a hand carding gently through her hair as he continues to loudly discuss his varied and many opinions about the new technology a rival company was bragging about, his other hand waving as Babs listened quietly, a soft smile on her lips. 

She leans against her Dad, soaking in the bright, chaotic, noisy thing that she proudly calls "love." 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it, and I have a tumblr (griffle-musings) where I post more "Fly Through" stuff, like Jenna-centric drabbles, notes, and the like, if you're interested in this Universe. Feel free to come talk to me there! 
> 
> Thank you!


End file.
